Our Today
by MadMar
Summary: Meg Giry has put thoughts of the Paris Opera House and its ghost behind her. It has been, after all, over a hundred and fifty years. However, when she meets the Phantom again,she finds herself drawn to him. Modern. CANCELLED
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own **The Phantom of the Opera , **which is property of Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, and Susan Kay.

Author's Note: This is a Modern E/M phic. It is an experiment to which I am very dedicated. I have the first several chapters written, but am in the process of editing. The premise of the story is that the characters are immortalized because they have been transcribed into novels, movies, and musicals; the belief is so strong that they will survive. The physical forms they take are those of the 2004 film, but their personalities are blended from the Leroux, Kay, and Webber versions and are also shaped by their modern lives. Please do not tell me they are OOC, because I am trying hard to keep them to their roots, but also allowing them to grow into something new and different. Thank you and enjoy.

* * *

Their first meeting had been pure happenstance. Meg Giry had no intentions of meeting the Phantom of the Opera when she walked into the local bookshop. It was mid-morning and the shop was far from busy. Meg walked in, as she did every other Wednesday to scan the shelves and place orders for music and dance books. But this Wednesday was special—she was replacing her copy of the Leroux novel. It was a necessary act, of course, but as Meg perused the shelves, she could not find it. She marched to the counter to confront the shaggy-haired teen who worked the counters.

"Zach," she said, tapping the desk.

The teen ignored her but flipped a page of his soccer magazine. Meg rapped harder on the counter and cleared her throat, which merited no acknowledgement from Zach. Finally, seizing the magazine, Meg took it from him.

"Zach, I need your help!" she said, frustrated. It was a bi-weekly routine and Meg tired of it. Zach worked summer weekdays and he was always reading a sports magazine. Only when Meg took it from him, would he take notice of her or any other customers in the store. She'd heard all Zach's excuses about the bookstore never having customers, to which Meg would scathingly snap, "I wonder why!" But today, the teenage clerk raised his shaggy blonde head and sighed, saving her the agony of hearing his complaints. He removed a pair of earbuds from his ears and stood.

"Sorry, Miss. I ain't able to hear ya with my headphones in!" he said, standing up and getting out from behind the desk.

"That's alright. I need you to help me find Gaston Leroux's novel, _The Phantom of the Opera. _It's a classic, but I couldn't find it in your literature section."

Zach walked over to the literature section to find it, with Meg trailing behind him. They passed the science-fiction/fantasy section and the romance section, when the door at the front of the store opened, the tinkling of its small bells signaling the arrival of another customer.

"Be with ya in a sec!" Zach called over his shoulder. "Look 'round if you want to."

"I shall do precisely that, thank you," was the musical reply, which caused Meg to turn her head.

On the threshold stood a very tall man, whose elegant fedora was pulled down so low onto his face, one could not tell there was more than a chin and lips beneath it. _A tall dark stranger… _It felt like something out of a romance paperback, to Meg and at first that was why she felt herself drawn to the man. He walked further into the store, and Meg slowly realized he, too, was heading for the Literature Section. Zach coughed, causing Meg to tear her eyes from the mysterious man.

"Yer book, Miss," he said, extending a pristine paperback copy of Leroux's classic.

Meg smiled at him and thanked him.

"Er, if you don't mind," she said to him, "I'd like to browse some more…"

Zach shrugged and muttered something like, "whatever" before exiting the aisle. The other man shook his head and muttered to Meg, "Such attentive service, _oui_?"

The musical voice made Meg's heart pound with flustered excitement. "_Oui_, Zach is always that way. But what do you expect? He is a teenage boy…"

"In my day," the man said darkly, "teenage boys were men and upstanding members of society. They had chivalry, bravery, and nobility. But you would know all about that, _mon cherie,_ would you not?"

The last sentence sounded nearly scathing, as though Meg had done the man some ill. She blinked a few times, and realized the two of them were conversing in French. It had been some time since Meg had last needed to speak the language of her homeland, here in New York it was unnecessary, but it had all come so naturally. This stranger seemed to know her, and she felt that he was vaguely familiar. He turned and stood beside her, reaching for a copy of Leroux's novel as well.

"I see you are an enthusiast of the classics," Meg said lightly. The man gave an odd cough, which sounded more like a snort.

"In a sense, I _am_ an enthusiast. But to an extent, I am so much more…"

He turned away and Meg caught a glimpse of a withered cheek beneath the fedora. As he began to walk away from her, she heard herself instinctively breath, "_Monsieur le Fantome_?"

The man stopped and whirled around. Meg could not see his eyes but she could feel a burning stare bore into her. Blinking in shock, she turned to go pay for her book. She bought it quickly and hurried out of the shop. She began walking briskly toward her dance studio, but she felt a cold hand grip her wrist. She wriggled, but could not escape his grasp. He forced her to face him.

"I'll scream," she threatened. "I will..."

"They all do," the man said almost threateningly. "Even you, _mon ange_…At the sight of me, you screamed."

"I've never seen you before in my life," Meg sighed. "Please, sir… Let me go! I beg you, to."

The man did not loosen his grip, but squared his shoulders. Meg was frantically thinking of ways to escape, and the idea of kicking him in the shin passed her mind, when he peered into her face. She could see one side of his face—the desiccated flesh strengthening her belief that she had found the Phantom. She knew he was capable of killing and at this moment, thoughts of home, her studio, her estranged mother… everything she would never see again crossed her mind, when suddenly, their eyes locked and his softened. He loosened his grip, but did not let go.

"You are not her—are you?" he whispered. "You are not Christine…"

"No, _Monsieur_… I am Meg; Meg Giry," she gasped. The Phantom let go of her wrist and Meg stumbled.

"That would explain how you knew me, and why you bought a copy of the novel…" he muttered. "I take it a page has fallen from yours?"

Meg nodded. "How did you--?"

"_Mademoiselle_, forgive me," he said suddenly, aiding her in regaining her balance. "I thought that you were Christine… over one-hundred and fifty years have passed since I last saw her… Your blonde hair, your fascination with Leroux… I thought you were her. I apologize and I hope you will accept."

His frosty but familiar attitude had become cruel. The cruelty had become apology. Meg found herself stunned, but slightly impressed by the Phantom's change for the better.

"_Monsieur le Fantome_…" she began.

"Erik," the Phantom interrupted. "I am no phantom. I am Erik."

Meg nodded and continued, "Erik, then. I accept your apology. But I really must insist that…"

"I understand, I shall leave you to your walk, then," he said, somewhat sadly. "I'm sure Nadir will find some good use for me…"

The mournful tone of his voice made Meg feel a surge of guilt like one she had never known before. Perhaps it was because he had been so courteous, or perhaps it was the lust to speak with anyone from her era that made Meg call out to him.

"Erik! Wait."

Erik turned and gave a small bow. "Little Giry?"

"I must insist," she repeated, "that as payment for your offense, you should join me for coffee. Perhaps tomorrow morning?"

"Tomorrow morning would be lovely, Mademoiselle. Where at and when?"

Surprised, for Meg had not expected him to accept, she stammered back, "Cup of Joe's coffee shop. Eight o'clock."

"That sounds lovely," Erik said awkwardly. "Perhaps I will."

He turned to go and Meg watched him uneasily. She had just asked the Phantom—no, Erik—to coffee minutes after he had been violent against her. Questioning her sanity, Meg gripped her book tightly and resumed her walk back to her apartment. Erik's sudden appearance was something to precious for her to let slip away. Her curiousity refused to be satiated until she saw him again, to be sure this was not a dream.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own **The Phantom of the Opera , **which is property of Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, and Susan Kay.

* * *

Meg awaited Erik's arrival in Cup of Joe's coffee shop, twisting her blonde hair and twining it around her long fingers. It was promptly eight o'clock when Erik entered and passed the counter to join Meg at her table. She smiled at him oddly and he sank into his chair.

"I'm glad you could make it," Meg said softly. "I'll tell Joe that he can bring the menus now, if you'd like…"

Erik said nothing, but watched her with his perceptive eyes as Meg signaled to a short, dark man with a broad smiling face.

"Hey, Joe. This is Erik; he's joining me for coffee today," Meg told him. "I think we'd like to see a menu."

The man named Joe smiled at Erik, "It's nice to meet you, sir."

"Enchanted, I'm sure." Erik twisted his thin lips into a semblance of a smile, not sounding 'enchanted' at all.

Joe bent to whisper to Meg, "Some man you got yourself there, Megan—sarcastic as hell…"

Meg pursed her lips and shrugged carelessly and turned to Erik, who was now staring at his nails. Meg sighed. This would be a long coffee meeting, if they continued to sit in silence, but what could she say? No words were spoken excepting when Joe returned with the menu.

"Thank you," Meg and Erik mumbled simultaneously.

Joe said nothing but shook his head sadly, watching as Meg and Erik read their menus in silence.

"The usual," Meg said, barely looking at her menu, which gave Joe cause to groan.

Erik looked at Joe with all seriousness and asked for black coffee. Joe sighed and took the menus from them and wandered back to the counter, grumbling about Erik's choice of drink. Erik looked questioningly at Meg, who smiled politely. He seemed to be sizing her up quietly, and Meg, too, was judging Erik by his demeanor, which seemed both confident and indifferent, puzzling Meg more than anything. The silent staring-match continued until Joe returned with the coffee, which he placed unceremoniously onto the table before stalking off. Once Joe was out of ear-shot, Erik broke the silence.

"Megan?" he asked after taking a swig of coffee. "What prompted the change?"

Blushing and glancing away from him, Meg tightened her grip on the latte. "Well, Marguerite sounded so… outdated. _Marguerite Giry." _Her contempt for her given name was evident as she wrinkled her nose and scowled briefly. "Suspicious, too. Especially when my hair was still dark and Leroux was still alive. I've had quite a time eluding even more journalists and _your _rabid "phangirls". When the musical came out… Well, a change was certainly in order. It isn't a legally binding change, but it's a secret; my mother doesn't even know."

"Your secret is safe with me," Erik said, his musical voice serious. "Provided you tell no one about my name change."

Meg cocked an eyebrow and brought her latte to her lips, waiting for Erik to continue.

"Nadir would certainly die of heart failure if he found that I've changed my name to Erik with a 'c'."

Meg had difficulty suppressing a laugh and had to force her drink down. She gagged and gasped for air, making Erik smile and causing the other patrons to stare. To an onlooker, the two looked like any other pair in the coffee shop, laughing and smiling and chatting as they nursed overpriced coffee. To an onlooker, this joke would be nonsensical. But Meg couldn't help but laugh, as she knew full well that the minor change made all the difference in the world to the meticulous Opera Ghost; nor could Meg suppress the laughter cause by the sole fact that Erik possessed a sense of humor. It had been the last thing she expected from him.

"So Nadir is…?" she asked, once she had regained her composure.

"My friend. You would know him as the Persian," Erik said simply, shrugging. "If you ever met him, that is…"

"So is the Persian… Pardon me, _Nadir _the only one you've kept in touch with?" Meg asked conversationally. It was probably a silly question as Erik did not seem to be the type who would send regular Christmas cards to former residents of the Opera Garnier. But the words had slipped from Meg's lips before she could contain them.

Erik gestured vaguely. "I have spoken with Nadir's former servant, Darius, on rare occasion—at Nadir's prompting. He thought it proper that I interact with our dinner guest, since I have no social life or career."

The use of the word "our" surprised Meg some and Erik noted the change in her facial expression. He feared he would ask about his definition of the term 'friend' and before he could keep her from asking questions, Meg asked, "You're unemployed? That's too bad… I think I know of a job you could take on, if you'd like…"

Erik's eyes darkened momentarily. Meg found them oddly enticing; a green-blue color she couldn't place that was worlds away from Erik's cat-like eyes of old. They looked like storm clouds in this moment and Meg feared lightening would shoot from them. Instead, Erik busied himself with his coffee once more and cleared his throat.

"So. This job offer. Tell me about it."

Blanking, Meg remembered that this was a business meeting and though it was refreshing to have come across someone—even the Phantom—from her time, the two were not long-lost friends catching up and reliving the good days.

"The job…" she sputtered.

"Yes. The job," Erik hissed, drumming his long fingers on the table. "Tell me about it, assuming there is one-- unless, of course you thought it amusing to lure the Phantom of the Opera into a coffee shop in hopes to spark a fruitless friendship."

Meg saw a spark the Opera Ghost flicker in Erik. The hands only inches from hers had _killed _and could surely do so again, if her response was unsatisfactory. She straightened and smoothed her skirt in a single nervous gesture.

"Well, the job would be playing piano Monday through Friday for my six o'clock ballet classes and Sundays for my one o'clock ballroom dancing class."

"That's it?" Erik sneered. "You want to reduce the greatest musician to have lived to playing piano for ballet brats and waltzing couples looking to put spark into their love lives?"

Erik rose and Meg stood as well to meet him.

"What I want is to offer a steady job to a man who seems to have spent over a hundred and fifty years unemployed and sleeping on his best friend's couch!"

Erik froze, all the while glaring. Who did she think she was? With a scowl he walked over to her, their faces nearly touching as he bent to peer into her face. Meg could feel his hot breath on her skin and smell the coffee that lingered in his mouth. She could also see his deformity, which seemed to have change from the original full-facial deformity she'd read about, to a milder half-facial deformity. Despite this fact, Meg still felt a chill run down her spine.

"Erik does not need your pity or your help, _Little Giry_."

And on that note, Erik left Cup of Joe's Coffee Shop, leaving Meg with the bill and without a pianist.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own **The Phantom of the Opera , **which is property of Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, and Susan Kay.

* * *

Nadir Khan's apartment overlooked a busy street with hundreds of pedestrians crossing it daily. But from his vantage point at the window, Nadir's sharp green eyes spotted Erik gliding in his ghost-like manner across the sidewalk, his elaborate fedora tilted jauntily to soften the shock of his face. Nadir rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger and he saved his document—an emailed file from a co-worker concerning a current case. The years had taught Nadir that little work could be accomplished with Erik around and now, Nadir felt blessed to have a laptop with which he could store everything conveniently. No sooner than Nadir had shut off the monitor, did Erik come in. Nadir wouldn't have noticed had the door not creaked. Without that tell-tale creak, Erik would be unfortunately imperceptible. Erik tended to complain about the creak, but Nadir left the hinges un-oiled for that specific purpose.

"What a day!" Nadir heard Erik sigh. "What nerve!"

Nadir removed his silver reading glasses and called out to his friend.

"Ah, there you are!" Erik said as he slammed his fedora on the table. "Don't mind me, dear Daroga. Feel free to continue your work—keep saving the world one divorce at a time!"

Nadir shut his laptop as to look at his friend better.

"Daroga?" he echoed, pocketing the glasses. "My word, Erik! That title sounds so archaic, don't you think?"

"I'm in an old-fashioned mood, that's all," Erik said sullenly, settling into the chair opposite Nadir. "Do we have anything to drink?"

Nadir rose and walked into his cramped kitchen, scanning the liquor cabinet. "Er… Wine? Whiskey?"

Erik rolled his eyes and made a very loud noise of exasperation. "Not alcohol, you dolt. I'm actually _thirsty_."

Nadir moved to the next cabinet over and picked up a Folgers tin. He shook it and then opened it to make sure it wasn't empty. "I've some coffee left over from this morning…"

A groan came from the table. "Anything but that, Nadir."

"Tap water?" Nadir offered wearily. "Really, Erik, must you be so picky? You're running out of options."

Nadir scanned his shelves rapidly, realizing he had not gone grocery shopping in a while and it was something that couldn't wait much longer. He opened the refrigerator to find a half gallon of milk and two Red Bulls. Nadir would have to go shopping soon to restock his refrigerator as well as the cabinets. He knew Erik lived off of the energy drinks and considered offering him one, when Erik interrupted his train of thought.

"Can I have some Russian tea?"

"Russian tea!" Nadir knocked backwards into the oversized island in the center of the kitchen as he made his way back to Erik. "You really _are_ in an old-fashioned mood. Who did you run into?"

"What makes you think I ran into someone?" Erik snapped.

Nadir emerged from the kitchen and put his hands on his hips. Erik's tone was too defensive for Nadir's liking. To most, Erik wouldn't have sounded much different from normal, but Nadir's ears were well-trained to Erik's ever-changing moods.

"Was it _Her, _Erik?"

Christine Daae's name had not been said aloud by either man since the night she left. However, Nadir had kept careful tabs on Raoul and Christine since they wed and fled France. He had painstakingly ensured a meeting between the happy couple and Erik would not happen and now would not be a good time for such a foolproof plan to fall to bits. Nadir had heard the happy couple was living in London, but a vacation to New York City wasn't an improbable thing for them to do.

"Not _Her_, but a 'her' as it is. Get back to the tea."

Nadir sighed, returned to the kitchen and began to rummage for a tea kettle among his dishes and cookware in the kitchen. "A her? I don't follow. Her Broadway double, perhaps?"

"Heavens no!" Erik came to the doorway. "Did you look beneath the sink?"

"Beneath the sink… Well, no. That's a strange place for a tea kettle… So not a Broadway double? One of your alleged phangirls, perhaps?"

"You put the kettle there last time you used it, in January. Not a phangirl, no."

"In January? How you remember the menial facts of my life, I don't know… So who did you meet? I'm sick of guessing games." Nadir paused to reach beneath the sink. "Ah-hah!"

"You found it? I told you it was there. Now, I'd like the lemon in the water as it heats…"

"No." Nadir, tea kettle in hand, came to stand in front of Erik, who had returned to the table. "You tell me who you met before I make you tea."

Erik sighed and lithely stretched back so that his chair lazily perched on its two back legs. He propped his feet onto Nadir's kitchen table and looked at his friend.

"Did you ever meet my box keeper?" he asked unblinkingly.

"Once. A Madame Giry, if I recall correctly, am I right? Crazy as a loon that woman was—seemed to think that my name was Jules or some other nonsense the entire time I questioned her… Was it her you came across?"

"No. Did you ever meet her daughter?"

"Not formally. Erik, why the questions?" Nadir's brow furrowed, etching lines into his forehead.

"Well, it was her daughter I came across. Two days ago, to be precise. We got to talking and…"

Nadir's face drained of color as his friend trailed off. His grip on the kettle tightened and his arm quivered. Nadir hadn't heard Erik come in the night before and images of Erik in a nearby bar filled his mind. Fears of Erik finding a drinking partner filled him and, fighting to keep his tone even, Nadir managed to ask, "You _what_?"

"Well, she invited me for coffee. We arranged a time and place to meet—today at Cup of Joe's coffee shop. I didn't actually plan on going, but, Nadir, how often is it that I meet someone from our time? I couldn't resist the temptation to make sure I hadn't imagined the entire encounter. So I joined her this morning and we got to talking. I—quite foolishly—mentioned that I was living with you due to my unemployment and she told me of a job I could do. She told me of a job playing piano six times a week in her dance studio."

Nadir's face brightened and all color returned to it. "That's wonderful! When do you start?"

The incredulous look on Erik's face made Nadir bite his tongue and feel foolish for asking. With a shrug Erik looked away and out the window.

"I didn't take the job."

Nadir lost his grip on the tea kettle and it slipped from his fingers onto the floor, making a loud clanging sound that filled the room.

"What?" Nadir's voice was soft, but outraged. He rubbed his temples and then stepped towards Erik. All of Erik's chair legs hit the floor and he turned to face Nadir again.

"I didn't accept the job. It's an insult to my ability!"

Nadir groaned. Erik's pride was one demon that continued to plague him, even in modern days. If anything, modern times had embittered Erik further, as he seemed incapable of embracing the new world. Architecture had lost the integrity it had when Erik studied it. The magic shows that ran today were nothing but cheap charlatans and their scantily clad "assistants" performing card tricks. And the so-called music! Nothing was ever good enough for Erik. And for a second, Nadir considered telling him this in a scathing manner. Instead, he bent over, picked the tea kettle off the floor and thrust it at Erik in disgust.

"Make your own tea!" he called over his shoulder with contempt as he left the kitchen. "If you can even do that for himself!"

Erik heard Nadir's bedroom door slam shut and for once, he felt that his friend truly thought him a lost cause.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own **The Phantom of the Opera , **which is property of Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, and Susan Kay.

* * *

Meg's studio was on the second floor of the building, sandwiched between apartments on the third floor and three stores on the first—a bridal boutique, a bakery, and Cup of Joe's Coffee Shop. To get upstairs, one would have to go to the side of the building and through a wooden door that revealed a flight of steps as well as an elevator. As Erik climbed the stairs and neared the studio, he could hear a happy tune floating from the room and he feared Meg had already found herself a new pianist. Once he reached the room, Erik peered in to see ten girls in matching leotards prancing across the oak floors to unseen instruction.

"First position!" Meg called out from somewhere in the room.

The girls stopped dancing about and began to position their arms and feet in the right places. Suddenly, the piano music stopped and Meg crossed the room, stopping beside one little red-haired girl.

"Mary," she said to one girl, "Face forward."

"I can't, Miss Meg. There's a man at the door."

Meg turned to the door doubtfully when suddenly she caught a glimpse of an elaborate fedora. "Erik?"

She strode to where he was and opened the door fully, gesturing for him to enter. Some girls giggled and whispered to one another. Ignoring them, Meg motioned to a chair on the far side of the room as she walked back to the piano. "You can sit there until after practice. We'll be done in fifteen minutes or so." Then, to the girl named Mary, Meg added, "Face forward."

Erik's presence distracted the ballet girls, which was nothing new to him; he had almost forgotten the sound of the whispers he caused at the Paris Opera. But now, some semblance of a memory formed—the frightened looks, the clasped hands, pale faces and hushed tones. Here, however, the mood was different than before. The girls were giddy with satisfied smirks and blushing cheeks as they stole glances at Erik. He could not understand why the girls had taken this attitude until class had ended and Meg was helping the red-haired girl, Mary, to tie her shoes.

"Your husband wears a funny hat," Mary whispered confidentially to Meg before hopping up from the floor and finger waving at Erik.

Meg did not correct the girl, but smiled and zipped up her bag for her. She watched as Mary met with her mother at the door and the other students began to file out of the studio. When all her students were gone, Meg turned to Erik.

"You were playing piano today, weren't you?" he asked immediately.

"Yes. I'm not great, but I'm all I have." Meg shrugged, pulling a second chair over to Erik for her to sit in. "So, what brings you to my studio?"

Her tone was light and relaxed, but Erik could tell she was surprised to see him by the curious glint in her eyes.

"About the other day…"

"I forgive you," Meg said simply. "You mistook me for Christine, forcefully yanked me about, and then when I invited you for coffee, you left me with the bill. But I forgive you. You are Erik; surely these are not the worst crimes you've committed and I'm thankful that I received such minor blows."

Erik's fists clenched but he did not rise or snap at Meg's cheeky interruption. Instead, he inhaled sharply and started over, "I was wondering if the pianist position is still open."

"It is," Meg said softly. "But I thought you weren't interested. What made you change your mind?"

"My motivation is my own and I do not wish to disclose my reasoning unto you just yet. Let it suffice to say that I have changed my mind."

A slow smile spread across Meg's face as she extended a hand for a handshake.

"When can you start?"

Meg climbed the stairs to her apartment with her grey duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She fumbled for a moment with the key, swearing under her breath when Tony Parrino's youngest son, Matt, stuck his head out the front door to watch. His mother, Maria, ushered him back inside and she smiled apologetically to Meg before continuing her lecture in Italian, hoping Meg couldn't understand. Finally, the key turned properly in its hole and Meg leaned heavily against the door. She did not trip when the door gave way and opened to reveal her cluttered apartment. She tossed her bag onto the couch to hear a small 'woof'. Meg laughed and came around to the other side of the couch to move her bag. Her dog—a little mutt named Jack—had been sleeping where she wanted to put her bag.

Jack, more properly known as Jacques-Louis Giry the Tenth, was a broken-coated terrier mix. He had white fur splotched with large brown spots. He had one white ear and one brown one, and a circle of brown around one eye. When Meg had adopted him from the shelter, she was sure Jack was a purebred Jack Russell terrier, but he had a lazy temperament and he was generally friendly to all other animals—cats and dogs alike. Nor was he aggressive to strangers—the opening of the front door didn't even give him cause to bark, which made him a lousy guard dog. His tail was also a bit long and curly, giving the only physical clue as to his mixed heritage.

"Come on, you," Meg muttered to him as she made her way into the kitchen. "Let's get some dinner."

Jacks quick, choppy gait was out of sync with his mistress' fluidity as he followed on her heels. Meg went into her small pantry to retrieve some wet dog food for Jack. She scraped into his little dog dish, stuck the spoon into the sink, and then took to contemplating her own dinner. A frozen Lean Cuisine seemed to be the best choice. As she heated into the microwave, Meg sat on the counter and watched her dog.

"Well, Erik started work today," she told Jack. "Rather, he starts tomorrow, but he made an appearance today. It's a start."

Jack cocked his head in an almost disbelieving manner. The microwave beeped. Meg took her dinner out of it and ate at the counter, continuing to talk to Jack as she did.

"Oh don't look at me like that!" she scoffed before taking a bite of pasta. "Erik needed the job and I needed a pianist. Besides, someone should keep an eye on the infamous Opera Ghost." Jack barked in an agreeing way and Meg leapt from the counter deftly. She bent to pet him and whisper in his ear, as she would a trusted confidante. "Besides, I'm curious to see how this plays out."

Meg scratched Jack's head and quickly finished supper. She would have to get everything arranged for Erik for the next day as well as teach her modern dance class in the morning. Meg didn't want to seem unprepared, after all.

* * *

A/N: To those of you wondering, an explanation as to how the characters have been transplanted into modern times: the characters have been immortalized because of such strong belief in their existence-- the phans have inadvertantly called them into existence. In order to continue living eternally as Leroux (and others) have envisioned them, the characters must always own a copy of the original novel, to keep them in touch with their true selves. Others, such as Nadir or Madame Giry, also own a Susan Kay novel or Andrew Lloyd Webber soundtrack as to maintain their more recent or preferred embodiment. For instance-- Nadir can pull off appearing to be younger than he is in Leroux because he has the Kay novel; Madame Giry can be an enigmatic but sane woman because she has the Andrew Lloyd Webber soundtrack to keep her from going back to being the intelligent half-wit Leroux introduces us to. It may sound slightly crazy, this theory of mine, but for this story's purposes, it works. Now, to those of you who took the time to read this lengthy explanation, I hope this means you find yourself in the possession of a few more spare moments that you could use to review-- feedback is always appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own **The Phantom of the Opera , **which is property of Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, and Susan Kay.

* * *

Erik awoke late the next day to find a note from Nadir propped up on the kitchen table. It was written in Nadir's impeccable cursive and in blue ink, which meant it was Sunday. Sunday was the only day Nadir didn't have work and therefore, did not use his work pens, which were black. The blue pen was some obsessive-compulsive habit of Nadir's that had formed for reasons Erik never fully understood. With a sigh, Erik began to read the note which was terse an impersonal reading:

E,

Having coffee with co-workers. Be back by eleven.

-N

Erik sighed a second time. Nadir often had coffee with his various co-workers and clients. It made Erik feel insanely jealous of his friend's exclusive social life and Erik saw it as a world he never had really belonged in. However, his thoughts floated to the coffee he had with Meg only a few days ago and he wondered what it would be like to join Meg on such an outing, this time as co-workers and friendly acquaintances. It wasn't a fully conscious day-dream as Erik had only just woken up, but it was a pleasant fantasy. They were not in Cup of Joe's as they had been the last time, but one of Nadir's posh coffeehouses with five hundred varieties of cappuccino and soft jazz music wafting through the sophisticated atmosphere. They discussed putting choreography to Erik's latest piano piece and Meg was smiling at his sheer brilliance as Erik admired and critiqued her ideas for the movements to be added. Suddenly, the soft jazz music became less soothing and began shrilly ringing through the air. The ringing became so bothersome that Erik tried, in vain, to push it from his mind, only to realize it was the telephone ringing. Erik groaned and meandered to the phone on the other side of the kitchen. As a rule, Erik did not answer the phone. It wasn't a household rule, but rather, a self imposed restriction. Calls were seldom for Erik, excluding a few so-called "phangirls" that claimed to find his number in the phone book, which Erik always regarded with suspicion, because he didn't have a personal phone and the home number was listed under Nadir's name. Phangirls and their stalking did not interest Erik nor did the calls from Nadir's law-firm so the message machine filled by noon some days.

His stomach growling, Erik moved to the refrigerator to make a sandwich, when the phone stopped ringing and the familiar voicemail recording sounded. "Good day, you have reached Nadir Khan. Press one if you wish to speak with him. Press two if you wish to speak with Erik. Have a splendid day!"

As he slathered mayonnaise on his bread, Erik heard a familiar voice on the machine, "Erik? Hi, it's Meg. Meg Giry. I hate to be a bother, but the piano is making some strange noises and I thought you might like to take a look at it before I call a repairman. Anyways, I need to hear from you before tomorrow because that's when we'll need a solution. You have my number, give me a call… please. Bye."

Click. She hung up. Erik checked his watch. Ten o'clock. If he ate on the way, he could have up to a half hour to spare. Better yet, he could save five more minutes by not eating his sandwich. He put it on a plate and dashed out the door. If the piano took too long, the sandwich might distract Nadir long enough for him not to notice Erik's absence.

Erik arrived to the studio to find Meg tinkering with an old boom box. He cleared his throat a few times and she turned to face him.

"You got my message!" she said brightly, before turning back to the radio. "I've been tinkering with this piece of junk because the piano is making strange noises each time I press a key. Figured if all else failed, I could use some of my CDs to warm up the girls… But my personal stereo is too heavy to heave downstairs so I had to fish around for this. It was under all these costumes and I don't think it's been used in years—it's a tape player, after all…"

Erik wasn't sure if Meg was talking to him or merely at him, so he let her finish rambling before speaking. Instead of interrupting, he took the opportunity to soak in his surroundings. The room was painted the color of champagne, an orange-pink that wasn't altogether displeasing. The three large windows and the single large mirror faced one another in an eternal staring contest which made the room look larger and somehow more impressive. The floors were oaken and recently polished by the feel of it. So interested in the interior decoration of the studio was Erik, that he almost didn't hear the end of Meg's speech.

"…So I figured you could check the piano out, appraise it so we can decide what to do about it. I'm no good at mechanical work, but I've always known you to be skillful with your hands… in that field."

Erik walked to the piano and circled it a few times before taking a seat. He rested his fingers gingerly on the keys before playing a scale. Instead of the melody making its usual climb from lowest to highest, a faint clunking sound could be heard when Erik pressed some keys. Erik stood up and asked Meg to sit on the bench he had just vacated.

"Can you copy that scale?" he asked.

Meg was unsure if his question was meant to insult her ability to play the piano or if he was merely asking a favor. She nodded curtly and began to play it. As she did, Erik opened the instrument and asked her to stop playing. He stuck his hand in and Meg couldn't see what he was doing. A few moments later, he retracted his hand and held up a few pink plastic barrettes.

"You need to keep your students away from my instrument," Erik said, forcing the barrettes into Meg's palm. "These were clipped onto the cords and easily could have damaged my piano."

"_Your_ piano?" Meg asked, her voice a murmur as she stared at the barrettes in her hand.

"Yes, my piano. It is, I presume, my job to play it, is it not? Therefore, it is my piano. And your students could do well with a reminder that it is my piano. Tell your ballet brats to keep away from it."

"These barrettes weren't there during my last ballet class. You were present and the clunking noise was not. I should, however, ask my jazz class if they had anything to do with this. There are a few mischief makers in that class and few understand the purpose of _my_ piano. I'll speak to them." Meg said pointedly.

"_Your_ piano?" Erik asked in an ironic tone. "The one I'm being paid to play?"

"I did pay for it," Meg said simply. She pocketed the barrettes and smiled at Erik. "In a legal sense, the piano is my property."

"Legal sense?" Erik muttered. He was no longer thinking of Meg and the piano, but now of a man in a sharp black suit, sipping coffee with his partner at law. A man with piercing jade eyes. Nadir would soon be home. "Damn it…"

Erik seldom swore, but the idea that Nadir would find him gone was not a pleasant one. He was already not on speaking terms with Erik and was showing some out of character assertiveness that made Erik nervous. It was plausible that Erik could find his bags packed and waiting for him at the door…

"Meg, I really must be going. I have… other engagements. I will see you tomorrow for class. Expect me fifteen minutes in advance. Have a good day."

Erik tipped his fedora politely at her before whisking out the door and down the stairs. He checked his watch as he sprinted home. It was ten forty-five and Nadir would arrive to the apartment in fifteen minutes. If Erik didn't hurry, he would have a lot of explaining to do.

Nadir was not at the apartment when Erik returned and there were no packed bags waiting in his place. With a sigh of relief, Erik made his way to the kitchen, his stomach growling. He remembered the sandwich he had started to make and realized how hungry he was. Though it was warm, the sandwich tasted good. Erik heard the door creak open and two voices laughing together in a merry duet.

"I will see you tomorrow at work," he heard Nadir say. "Thank you for a wonderful morning."

Erik heard laughter again, this time the laughter of one woman. "Thank _you, _Nadir. I can't remember the last time I had such fun at a business meeting."

"We should have business meetings more often," Nadir said, his voice low and suave. Erik choked on the bit of sandwich he was swallowing.

"Good-bye," the woman said, obviously suppressing a giggle.

"Good-bye," Nadir echoed, clicking the door shut.

Erik heard Nadir walk in the opposite direction and Ayesha appeared from the other room to snake around Erik's legs. Erik, now breathing normally, set the sandwich down and looked at his cat.

"Well, this is an interesting turn of events, my little lady!" he chuckled, looking into Ayesha's large blue eyes. "It seems I won't be the only one keeping secrets after all. And perhaps this woman could be the decoy that prevents Nadir from finding out about my new job."

Ayesha meowed and jumped onto the counter to eat the remains of Erik's sandwich.

* * *

A/N: I just wanted to take this opprotunity to thank all of you who have read and reviewed my story. Thank you for sticking with me! 


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own **The Phantom of the Opera , **which is property of Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, and Susan Kay.

* * *

Meg handed Erik an unfamiliar piece of sheet music as soon as he walked in the room on Monday morning. He cocked an unseen eyebrow at her, but said nothing. At the moment, they were the only two in the room and all was quiet, excluding the busy city streets below. Erik made his way to the piano and read over the sheet music. When he looked up, Meg's back was to him and she was warming up. She bent down to touch her toes and Erik hastily began to play his music. _Does the woman have no modesty? _Erik thought scathingly. She _must_ know he was there and that it was very rude for her to begin stretching when Erik had first gotten there. Truthfully, Meg was alone in her mind. It was only her and an unseen melody as she stretched and warmed her muscles. It was only a matter of time before students joined her in this world of music and movement, but for now, it was her alone, as it seemed. But Erik was there, also losing himself to his thoughts. His fingers flew across the keys and Meg's dancing was no longer on his mind. It was only him and the music as he felt electrical energy flow from his fingers into the instrument. Meg stopped dancing, and took to listening to Erik play. _Does he not notice that he was no longer playing the sheet music, but improvising beautifully?_ Meg thought as she closed her eyes and listened. She approached him, perhaps to ask this, when the door opened and the first of the ballet girls entered, followed by nine more. Meg cleared her throat, catching their attention as well as Erik's.

"Girls, this is Mister Erik. He will play piano since Miss Annie left to have her baby. You are not to play with his piano or disturb him when he plays. Why don't you all say hello to him?"

A mumbled chorus of "Hello, Mister Erik" echoed throughout the room and Erik returned the greeting with his powerfully musical voice. He was so solemn and polite, Meg was sure the girls would not dare to cross him. She lined the girls up and turned to Erik.

"Erik, if you please…" Meg gestured to the piano and Erik took it as a signal to begin playing.

Three measures into the song, Meg began to call out to the girls, naming positions and movements that they must do. And the girls moved at her command. Erik noticed that the Monday class was a younger, less skilled group of dancers and Meg's criticisms were more frequent, but less harsh than they had been with the older girls. As the girls were packing, he confronted Meg about the classes.

"How old are the children you teach, Mademoiselle Giry?" Erik asked as Meg helped the girls into their coats and shoes.

"These girls are between six and eight. My Friday class is for girls from nine to ten. Tuesday's are the thirteen to fifteen year olds. Wednesday's are the eleven to twelve year olds. And Thursday is my sixteen and up classes. It seems random, but I assure you, there's method to the madness." Meg stood from her squatting position that she had assumed while aiding a small blonde girl with her shoelaces.

"The hours go by quickly," Erik said abruptly. "It's been so long since I've played piano like that."

"Has it?" Meg asked, making her way to a chair on which her own possessions sat. She reached in her duffel bag and pulled out two water bottles. Offering one to Erik, who accepted, Meg uncapped the other and drank deeply from it. She wasn't sure what Erik meant—it's been a long time since he had played how?

"Yes…" Erik sighed, but did not elaborate. "You know, this place is surprisingly peaceful. It's not as… hectic as Nadir's apartment. It feels like a place I can breathe in."

Meg smiled. "I know the feeling. There are mornings when I wake early and I come here. I can smell the coffee brewing and the bread baking through the floorboards and it's peaceful. It's quiet, too. And I can dance for hours on end."

Erik considered his water, his face serious. What he wouldn't give for a place to play for endless hours. He had a piano at Nadir's apartment, but there was little artistic feel in the home. It was decorated with a crisp gray-blue throughout the main house; the bedrooms were painted to the inhabitant's liking. Nadir had chosen a lush green for his walls, but Erik had left his bare—unable to bring himself to choose. It lacked personality and there was nothing less inspiring for Erik than staring at the blank white walls. But this dance studio crackled with creative energy. It was only today Erik noticed the abstract paintings that hung behind the piano, on the walls between windows. The view from the windows, too, was inspiring, if you knew how to take it in. It was not an ocean view, nor was it a mountain vista, but the people walking below seemed like an ever changing dance of color, so intricate and vivid, that one could draw inspiration from the life below almost instantaneously.

"What accompaniment do you dance to in the morning?" Erik asked.

Meg reached into her duffel and pulled out a small silver iPod and grinned sheepishly. She plugged a pair of headphones into a jack on the side and handed it to Erik. Erik put the headphones on and pressed play. A cheery sounding piano piece began to play; it sounded vaguely familiar to Erik, but was nothing overly recognizable. It sounded too modern to be classical, but it wasn't harsh sounding. He took out the earphones and shot Meg a questioning look.

"They're instrumental versions of some songs—mostly soft rock and classical. That was a Vanessa Carlton song, I think. You probably don't listen to her, but the piano in her songs make for good warm ups. I've got plenty more in here—it holds about five hundred songs, but I haven't filled it—yet." Taking the iPod from Erik, Meg shut it off and repacked it with a grin. "You know, I wouldn't mind if you came here and used this piano. It'd be nice to have company and I saw you playing—you looked ecstatic to play… If you'd like to come back other than for work, that is."

Erik bit his thin lip. "I'll think about it. Thank you for the offer. Have a good evening."

Without another word, Erik touched the brim of his hat in a gentlemanly way and left Meg alone in the studio.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own **The Phantom of the Opera , **which is property of Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, and Susan Kay.

* * *

When Erik arrived home, he found Nadir preparing dinner in the kitchen, the pungent aroma of grilling onions and mushrooms filled the apartment. A vegetarian meal. Nadir had recently decided the two needed to eat better, so he had made a meticulous menu of meals that would cycle from month to month. Though a good idea in theory, Nadir had neglected to split the menus entrees up for variety, so he and Erik would end up eating seafood for a week, vegetarian meals for another solid seven days, chicken dishes another week… It made Erik look forward to Mondays, so he hoped Nadir's cooking today was satisfactory, because the seafood week had been less than. Without saying any of this to his friend, Erik disappeared into his room to change clothes and put his new sheet music away.

"I want to watch the news tonight," Nadir said when Erik emerged. "I won my case, and channel four interviewed my team."

Erik made an indifferent noise and joined Nadir in the kitchen. Though not vain, Nadir took pride in watching television interviews of his team when they won a case, even though the entire interview never made it onto the news, and Nadir's speaking was seldom chosen as the clip that was aired.

"I also heard they were having a special about the dangers of the internet on Dateline, and it's always interesting to watch…" Nadir added offhand. "Granted, they show a special like that practically each week. But this one's about identity theft and I thought it might be interesting. My last case included some issues with identity theft, you know…"

"Can we talk about something other than work?" Erik asked as he opened the refrigerator. "You _always_ tell me about work. I worry for your health."

"_My_ health?" Nadir snorted. "How touching, Erik. I'm eating properly, I go to the gym three times a week and you fear for _my_ health? Let's talk about you."

"I am healthy!" Erik sighed, still scrutinizing the contents of the refrigerator. "Do we have any tuna left over from the other night?"

"Healthier than you were, this is an accomplishment, however minor. You are much to thin, still and I think you should see a doctor to examine your left wrist. All the composing you do is bound to have detrimental effects on the bones…"

"Tuna, Nadir. Do we have any?" Erik persisted. "Onions don't agree with Ayesha, and I didn't make it to the store for more cat food…"

"So what did you do all day?" Nadir practically yelped. Perhaps this was because he burned himself on the pan when his hand slipped out of shock.

Erik waited to answer Nadir until after his friend had run his hand under some cold tap water. While Nadir tended to his minor injury, Erik resumed his search for the tuna. He found it in a Tupperware container and dumped the fish into Ayesha's bowl. When he saw Nadir return to the stove, he decided to answer him.

"I woke up, fed my cat, watered your plants, showered, got dressed… Does it all really matter, Nadir?"

Nadir turned to the island and picked up some diced peppers, which he added to his vegetable medley. "Of course it matters. I want to hear about your day."

"Oh, all right. After I got dressed, I brushed my teeth. Then I combed my hair, donned my fedora and went out for a brisk stroll. I returned to vacuum, change Ayesha's litter box, and alphabetize my CD collection. I went for an evening walk and just returned. Now, wasn't that exciting?"

The sarcasm in Erik's voice did not go unnoticed and Nadir found himself scowling. He added some sort of flavoring to the vegetables that caused the pan to steam. It was probably wine, judging from the sweetish smell that filled the air. A pinch of salt was added to the medley and Nadir pursed his lips.

"Why don't you set the table?" he asked, stirring the vegetables. "Or will that overexert you, since you've had such a thrilling day?"

Erik returned the restrained expression, but set the table anyways. Nadir brought the food to the table and the two men began to eat in silence, neither apologizing to the other. Suddenly, the phone rang. Nadir threw his napkin onto the table and rose to answer it.

"Hello? Hey! How are you?" he said pleasantly. Then he paused. "Oh, I'm fine. Been better… Yeah, I know… It's not about _winning_ the case…No, on second thought, I'm fine… It's on?! Yes, of course I want to watch it…"

Nadir disappeared from the kitchen-dining room area and Erik saw him go into the living room. He heard the TV turn on and Nadir's voice say, "We are very pleased with the result of the case…" Erik assumed it to be the television, because Nadir began to speak, rather angrily.

"That's all there was? That was pointless! Why didn't they leave Alex's bit about the DNA evidence? Or your comment about Barker's ability as a lawyer? Well, okay… The Barker bit may have gotten you in trouble, which isn't at all what I want. But it was well-said, any lawyer would agree. Yes… Well… That's life; the world is far more fascinated in the affairs of the famous than the thoughts of those who sort the sordid affairs. Yes. I'll talk to you in the morning. Thanks for the call. Have a good night."

Nadir turned off the TV and returned to the dining room, phone in hand. He set it down in front of his plate and resumed eating.

"Well?" Erik asked.

"Well what?" Nadir retorted, poking a chanterelle mushroom with his fork.

"Who was that?"

Nadir, who had raised his fork to his mouth, began brandishing the mushroom like a sword in annoyance as he rolled his eyes. "It was Maryanne. She's another lawyer. She just wanted to tell me I was on television. I thought you didn't want to discuss work."

"I don't, but your phone calls intrigue me, as I receive so few of them myself. Maryanne, eh? How come this is the first I've heard that name?"

Nadir had brought his glass to his lips, only to set it down again. "Of course it's the first you've heard of her. We've never worked on the same case. I barely know her."

"Has she ever visited?" Erik asked. "The other day, a woman came to the door looking for you."

The last bit was a lie, but Erik had overheard Nadir's conversation with a mystery woman only a few days ago, and he was interested in discovering the woman's identity. Nadir didn't see through this guise however and rubbed his temples.

"Possibly. But if Alex gave her my address, I'll kill him. She'll probably want to turn me into an unwitting babysitter. She and her husband have two kids and I know she's been pestering Alex for months to watch them. If he passed her on to me, he _will_ regret it."

So Maryanne wasn't the mystery woman. _Pity_, Erik thought, _had she been,_ _this would be easier. _

"Oh. Thought it might have been." Erik said casually. "This is really delicious, did you invent the recipe?"

Nadir made a modest gesture. "I just whipped something up. If you like it, I'll try to repeat the recipe. What did the woman look like?"

"I couldn't really tell. She had her hair up in a hat of sorts and she didn't have any really distinguishing features that I could note." Erik lied further. "I assumed she was looking for you, because few women willing seek me out."

Nadir laughed and ate another forkful of dinner. "Oh, I don't know about that."

This cryptic statement was not elaborated upon, as Nadir stood and cleared his plate. He returned for Erik's as well, and then the leftovers from dinner, which he stored in a Tupperware dish.

"You know, Dateline will be on in five minutes," Nadir called over the water he was running to rinse off plates. "Would you like to watch it with me?"

Erik shook his head and walked towards his bedroom. "That's all right. I've met enough people with the need to conceal identities that I think I am an expert on the subject."


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own **The Phantom of the Opera , **which is property of Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, and Susan Kay.

* * *

Tuesday morning was cloudy and almost rainy. Erik loved this sort of weather—the steely sky and the rhythmic raindrops that followed were foreboding and yet, inspiring to him at the same time. It was the smell of blueberry muffins that drew Erik from his room—Nadir seldom made them and when he did, there was usually something to discuss. Erik came out of his room and saw Nadir sitting at the kitchen table, holding a mug of coffee between his hands. A plate of blueberry muffins sat untouched on the center of the table. Nadir swiveled slightly to face Erik and feigned a smile, though his eyes remained solemn.

"Erik! Please, have a seat. I made breakfast."

"I see," Erik said dully, taking the seat opposite Nadir. "You do realize you only make muffins when you have something unpleasant to tell me—or when you're apologizing."

"Nonsense!" Nadir's voice went higher and he coughed.

"You are a horrid liar."

Nadir made a noise of agreement and reached for a muffin. He cut it in half and buttered it, his face pensive. He didn't seem to be paying attention to what he was doing.

"You know that if you put any more butter on that thing," Erik said wryly, "your doctor's going to have a field day chiding you about cholesterol."

Nadir set the butter knife down and passed Erik the butter, still thinking and unsmiling.

"Just tell me what's troubling you," Erik said finally, sighing theatrically. "You can't expect me to read your mind."

"You're a horrid liar too, you know," Nadir said, as though Erik had not spoken in three minutes. "I mean, you're a wonderful _liar_, but you do it too much."

Erik, who had taken a bite of his unbuttered muffin, choked and sputtered for a moment. "When did I lie to you?"

Nadir sighed wearily. "When _didn't_ you lie to me? You told me you didn't accept Meg Giry's job offer, but I checked the message machine—she asked you to fix her piano. You did, didn't you?"

"What possesses you to say that, Nadir?"

Nadir set down the muffin and rubbed his temples. "Do you think I'm any less of a detective because we live in the twenty-first century? You of all people know that old habits die hard. Why do you think I love my job as a lawyer? I like to figure things out. I checked the message machine before you got home and heard the message. I can put two and two together, Erik. "Brightman" comes after "Bocelli"—your CDs _weren't_ alphabetized. You had to have been doing something else."

"There's a fault in your theory," Erik said smoothly. "The message was received _Sunday_. I told you I alphabetized my CDs _yesterday_."

Nadir shrugged. "I know Meg Giry, she can be persuasive, even charming, when she wants. You fixed the piano at her asking because she talked you into it. I know you. You have a sense of chivalry towards women. And, though you won't admit it, my criticism hurt you, didn't it?"

"Not true!" Erik denied lightly. "You criticize me all the time—it doesn't even sting."

Nadir smiled. Erik's denial only solidified his theory. He stood and cleaned his spot on the table, disappearing into the kitchen to put away his dish.

"I'm not mad that you took the job, Erik," Nadir said finally when he returned. "I'm _happy _for you. I just wish you didn't feel like you had to keep secrets from me."

Erik said nothing, but gave his friend a reproachful look. This was not a new argument but Nadir seemed to have changed it up. _I'm happy for you… _Usually, when being chided for keeping secrets, Erik was not being encouraged as well. Usually, Nadir told him not to keep secrets _and _not to continue with his secretive actions. This new approach was not going to change anything.

"I'm proud of you," Nadir continued, now smiling widely. "It's good that you've gotten a job—you need something to do all day."

"I don't want it." Erik muttered, pushing his plate away from him.

"The job?"

"No," Erik shook his head. "The muffin. I don't want it."

Nadir made a hissing sound through clenched teeth and cleared Erik's place and began separating the muffins into two groups. One group he put on a plate, the others went into a Tupperware dish.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking these to work. Do you want to take some to Meg?"

Erik rolled his eyes in exasperation. If it were anyone but Nadir… He owed the Persian man too much to treat him as he would treat anyone else with that much familiar sarcasm in their voice.

"I'll take that as a 'no', I'll leave some in case you change your mind… I'll take these to work; Alex and Maryanne will appreciate them."

"Appreciate _you, _you mean," Erik said snidely.

Nadir snapped up the Tupperware dish and balanced it in the crook of his arm without another word. Meeting Nadir's gaze, Erik realized he had pushed back too hard. Still, he said nothing, offered no apology. Nadir would forget the comment by dinner. Nadir grabbed his briefcase and umbrella before dashing out of the apartment into the drizzly weather. Erik watched him catch a cab and sighed.

_I never can keep secrets from Nadir. He's far too pushy and far too nosy. _

Erik sat down in front of the stereo to look at his CDs and reorder them. They _were _alphabetized, to Erik's surprise. A yellow Post-It note was stuck to _Eden. _

_I win. Have fun at work._

_-Nadir_

For a moment, Erik considered calling in sick, instead, he decided to show up early and get some composing done. His argument with Nadir filled him with a mixed sense of friendship and anger that he couldn't describe with words. Meg had said he could play _their_ piano anytime he wanted, after all. And Erik didn't think he could stay in the apartment alone for the rest of the afternoon. He rose and walked into the kitchen to feed Ayesha, only to find Nadir had beat him to it. The ailurophobe had finally come to terms with the "Siamese Monster" and vice versa. This only frustrated Erik more today, though and he stormed from the apartment only grabbing his fedora on the way out.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the lengthy wait. School has started up and my classes are killing me.

And now it's time for fun-facts with MadMar. Eden, for those who don't know, is a Sarah Brightman CD. Very good, I might add. Ailurophobia is a fear or hatred of cats—a phobia I discovered on accident while reading a book about psychology. Being a Nadir phangirl, my immediate thought was of him and I've been dying to use that phrase to describe him.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own **The Phantom of the Opera , **which is property of Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, and Susan Kay.

* * *

Meg Giry was an early riser by nature, so by seven thirty, she had risen, showered, dressed and eaten breakfast. She was tending to Jack when she heard a door slam shut directly downstairs. At first, it seemed to be nothing, but then dissonant plinks on a piano could be heard. Someone was in her studio, playing the piano. Jack's walk would have to wait. . Fearing burglars, or perhaps mischievous students, Meg slowly made her way down the stairs with a baseball bat in hand. She learned quickly that being a single woman in New York City was not the safest thing to be, so she kept a baseball bat in case of a dangerous scenario. The baseball bat, though not nearly the most threatening of weapons, would be enough to shoo all but the most persistent pianist from her studio. Meg never actually needed to use it, except to frighten off Tony's prankster children, or occasionally, her own unruly students. Still, it was comforting to grip the wooden bat firmly in her hands. Meg leaned against the wall outside her studio, listening to the airy tune wafting out the door. It was nothing she heard before, though it had a familiar flair to it. Slowly, Meg craned her neck to peer into the room. In the dim light of morning, Meg could see the shadow of a man sitting at her piano and subconsciously, her grip on the baseball bat tightened. Burglar or not, this man was an intruder. She tiptoed toward the blissfully unaware pianist.

"What do you think your doing?" she asked, in her most intimidating voice. It wasn't much, but it startled the man. He jumped and leapt to his feet. As he turned, Meg realized the intruder was Erik. Blushing, she put the baseball bat behind her back.

"I could ask you the same question," Erik said, amusement flickering in his eyes, briefly rendering them a golden color. "Tell me, Little Giry, did you mean to bash me over the head with that?"

"Oh!" Meg said, flushing yet a deeper shade of pink. "I thought you were an intruder."

"I am here on invitation. Or rather, I presumed I was," Erik said darkly. Then, scoffing, he added, "' I wouldn't mind if you came here and used this piano.' Well, what a warm welcome."

Meg scowled. The impudence in Erik's voice was hurtful, especially since she _had _said those exact words, and meant them. Still, she expected he would call, or tell her ahead of time, before barging in and frightening her half to death.

"I'm sorry, Erik. I didn't mean anything by the baseball bat. Sometimes, Tony's kids break in and goof off with my costumes and piano."

"Oh. And do you threaten to bash their brains out as well, Little Giry?"

Meg sighed. "I _said _I was sorry."

Erik shrugged. "I would normally return to my playing, but I do believe you've frightened away my muse."

Meg's eyes widened. "I scared you?"

Erik laughed, coldly, humorlessly. "No. You just made me lose my train of thought. Thank you very much for that. What I was playing could have been the greatest piece composed by man and you have single-handedly destroyed it."

Sorry wouldn't cut it. Erik was brooding, or perhaps only messing with her. Though the latter was unlikely, Meg hoped he was only joking. One look at him told her otherwise. Even with the baseball bat in hand, Meg felt unarmed. What could she possibly say to that? After a few tense moments of staring fumingly at one another, Meg looked away.

"Is there any way I can make it up to you?"

Once again, Erik laughed humorlessly. "No. It's gone."

"I really _am _sorry." Meg said, fidgeting uncomfortably.

"Stop apologizing, it's annoying." Erik snapped, before sitting back on the piano bench.

He played a few keys and Meg stared at him intently, wondering what he was going to do next. He tensed his shoulder, flexed and pressed three cacophonous notes at once. Erik sighed.

"No, it really is gone."

Meg sighed, "Well, there's no use in crying over it."

Erik snorted, standing as he did. "Really? Did you know that every song I write, every opera I compose takes with it a piece of my soul?"

Meg blinked, her eyes widened. She shook her head, wondering just how much of his soul Erik had given away to music. Personally, she thought he was being overdramatic and it frightened her slightly. Erik, on the other hand, felt that Meg's mere presence disrupted his creative flow. She was so insatiably curious, always sticking her nose where it didn't belong. Curious women, Erik decided long ago, were nothing but trouble. First Eve, then Pandora, then Christine… He looked up at Meg; her blonde curls and delicate frame also mirrored Christine's. She was just like her except… Her big, brown eyes probed not only Erik, but everything. They did not look upon him with blind trust or disgusted fear. Just intrigue, which was, perhaps, the most infuriating thing.

"Yes, you have cost Erik a piece of his soul…" he murmured, his voice suddenly slightly mad. "Tell me, _ma ange…"_

As he spoke, a distinct look of madness infiltrated his features. Erik, as Meg had begun to know him, was melting into something gaunter, more sinister looking. It frightened her.

Meg gripped the baseball bat tighter. "Erik!"

Something seemed to click within him and Erik suddenly looked no different than he had the day before, handsome, but tragically disfigured on one side of his face. Meg sighed, relieved. Such things only happened when a primal sense of self emerged; something she did invoked Leroux Erik.

"What?" he snapped, still irritable.

"You stopped…And you called me…"

"Annoying, yes, I know," Erik said, cutting her off. "And you are. Now, if you don't mind…"

He trailed off and began to play rapidly, this time, his notes better matched to one another. He seemed to be at ease, playing and Meg took a seat in one of the chairs lining the walls. She cast her eyes to the ceiling and sighed. After about fifteen minutes of music, Erik stopped playing.

"Thank you," he said, jolting Meg away from her thoughts, as muddled as they were.

She arched an eyebrow. "For what?"

"For letting me use your piano, thank you." Erik said, clarifying.

"Oh, it was nothing," Meg said, attempting to dismiss his thanks gracefully.

Erik shook his head. "It was something, Marguerite. Something happened. I snapped at you for no fault of your own and yet you still let me play."

Meg blushed. They both knew she had only let him play out of fear of what he might do were he not allowed to use the piano. Still, Erik's near-apology was something she knew not to dismiss casually.

"You're welcome, then," Meg said, smiling awkwardly, not daring to ask what the outburst was about.

She didn't need to.

"Something, lately, since meeting you, has turned my head. I don't credit you alone with this, granted; I'm sure Nadir's at fault as well. But I've been in a… old fashioned mood, I guess you could say."

Meg shrugged. "That's what being immortal does to you, Erik. It makes you want the old days back, no matter what happened."

_It makes you feel more human to know that you can die… that you can kill… _Erik thought, agreeing silently with Meg. Shaking his head, he tipped his fedora to her.

"I understand if you do not want me return for class tonight," Erik said hastily.

Meg waved her hand. "If you're feeling better, don't let me keep you from coming."

Erik smiled. _Really _smiled, without the catlike expression. He nodded before leaving quickly. Meg watched him walk down the street from her vantage point at one of the large windows. She still had to walk Jack, but Meg couldn't help but wonder what exactly she had said or done to put Erik so on edge. She picked up her baseball bat, now lying forgotten on the floor, and clambered back upstairs to leash her poor, patient pup.

* * *

A/N: I want to thank everyone for waiting so patiently, but most especially Hot4Gerry, who got me motivated to write again. My creativity has been sapped, but receiving your enthusiastic and reassuring push. :) I dedicate this chapter to you. 


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own **The Phantom of the Opera , **which is property of Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, and Susan Kay.

* * *

Erik was still feeling somewhat volatile when Nadir returned from work, though, in the light of things, sorry for his outburst earlier. Still, he said none of this to Nadir, who seemed content with the fact that Erik was, for once, silent and not pestering him. He disappeared into his bedroom for about thirty minutes and Erik began to wonder if Nadir retried extremely early. He sat down on the couch and began to channel-surf, when Nadir emerged from his room, wearing a sports-coat, slacks and a button down shirt, without a tie.

"And where do you think you're going, so dressed up?" Erik asked, looking up from the movie he was watching.

"_Marcello's," _Nadir answeredsimply. "You're on your own for dinner tonight."

Erik's eyes widened. _Marcello's _was a fancy Italian restaurant in Manhattan. The quaint Italian bistro often took reservations far in advance and only made available the best seats to patrons willing to pay handsomely. Nadir could certainly afford dinner at _Marcello's, _but the Persian had always prided himself on being above bribery. Since it was on such short notice, Erik couldn't help but wonder how lax Nadir's morals had become since last examined. He pursed his lips questioningly and Nadir smirked insidiously. He had a secret. Erik hated it when his friend kept things from him, but he knew that in order to have his privacy respected, the respect must be mutual.

"Oh?" he asked, fascinated. "And why would you be going out to eat, dear Daroga?"

Nadir shrugged. "Why wouldn't I? I deserve a night out, don't you think?"

Erik, tiring of this cat and mouse game, sighed and turned back to the television. "You have a lady friend, don't you?"

Nadir chuckled. "You always assume the worst case scenario, don't you?"

"What's her name?" Erik countered, knowing that Nadir's nonchalance was purely theatrical.

"No. I'm not telling you."

"That's a long name, awkward too," Erik quipped, grinning.

Nadir sighed. "She's not a lady friend like you think, Erik."

Erik shook his head. No one dined at _Marcello's _with someone who was merely a friend or casual acquaintance. Not even Nadir was an exception. Even if this woman hadn't a name, Erik was happy for his friend. It had been over a hundred years since Rookheeya died, and never once had Erik seen Nadir with another woman.

"She must really be something," he muttered to himself before changing the channel. _Forget Paris _was on and Billy Crystal was mocking Erik and the idea of _The Phantom of the Opera _in general. Erik ignored him, waiting for Nadir's reply.

"Oh, she is," Nadir said emphatically. "I can't keep her waiting, though. She is many things, but patient, she is not."

Erik laughed, surprised at the light mockery in Nadir's voice. "You have a good time tonight, but please, don't bring her back here for the evening."

It was Nadir's turn to laugh, "I wouldn't _dream _of it; our little bachelors' quarter is quite the pigsty."

Erik watched his friend pick up a small bouquet of red and white carnations. Erik thought upon the meaning of those flowers: my heart aches for you and I am still available. Nadir, though not widely versed in the meaning of flowers, would be sure to know the veiled suggestion behind the flowers and Erik wondered if his lady friend would appreciate the message.

_Probably not, _Erik thought with disdain as Nadir swept out the door. _Women these days only know about red roses. He's only setting himself up for scorn._

With Nadir gone for the evening, Erik was able to think about what he would do for the night. Meg had offered him the night off. It was now six o'clock and he had not ventured out the door. Reclining, Erik decided that he didn't want to keep watching _Forget Paris, _or any light-hearted chick flick, so he switched the channel to a Sirius Radio Station and ambled into the kitchen. Ayesha was perched upon a windowsill, likely warm from direct sunlight for the better part of the day. Erik scratched fondly behind her ears and walked to the refrigerator.

"Nadir may have his mysterious lady friend," he said, looking back to his cat, "But I have you, my little lady."

Ayesha meowed at him in what Erik knew to be agreement. He'd had Ayesha for so long—perhaps a century—and she was his constant companion. She'd seen him through every physical and mental change he'd endured. From Leroux, to Webber, to Kay, Ayesha had been there, purring and curling up atop his piano forte. Her food dish was still full from when Erik had last fed her, so he turned his attention upon finding his own dinner. There were no Lean Cuisines or TV Dinners; both innovations were strictly forbidden in Nadir's apartment. "How can we know what's in them!" Nadir had once complained, "The boxes are always vague as it is!" Eventually, Erik settled for left over muffins from that morning. It was food and it didn't need to make sense.

As he ate, Erik's thoughts trailed back to that afternoon. He had snapped at Meg for disrupting his train of thought. That had been a legitimate anger; any composer would agree. But the second time, some primitive feeling had overcome him. Madness, almost, which Erik always associated with dark and distant times. During those times Erik had lost everything, or thought he lost everything, and he strived desperately to win back what was rightfully his. He'd failed of course, losing Christine to the young viscomte. Those had been his darkest hours, realizing he was to be reviled and unloved all his life…

It returned again, that rage. Thinking about it seemed to unlock a capricious melancholy. Erik sighed heavily and threw muffin across the room. He put his head in his hands. When he looked up, Ayesha was examining the muffin, debating whether or not something her master had cast off so violently was worth eating.

Erik rose from his seat and made his way to the piano and began to play. The dissonance returned and it was not a particularly pretty sound. A pounding came to the door; some neighbor or another with complaints. Erik ignored the banging and continued to play, gradually calming down. When he did, the protestations died. Tonight, he was alone, but tomorrow, Nadir would be back and Erik would go to work. Life would resume a semblance of normalcy. For this one night only, though, Erik was to be plagued with his demons as he contemplated what exactly had happened in the studio.

* * *

A/N: Okay, normally I'm the sort of author who has her mind made up entirely about what she wants to do, or at least has a rough vision of what she want's. But I have a slight problem with one little subplot: Nadir's girlfriend. No matter how hard I try, I keep getting fleeting ideas for her, but nothing permanent. She's been everything including a fellow lawyer, Madame Giry, a client, and a random woman who has no consequence to the plot. If anyone has any suggestions or thoughts about this matter, please leave them in your review or PM me your ideas! I've done plenty of experimental chapters with this girlfriend and Nadir, but so far, nothing seems perfect. Thank you all! 


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera. Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, Susan Kay, and others do.

A/N: Oh my God, it's been forever since I updated this phic. A thousand apologies for dropping it. Hopefully, I'll be able to finish it out. I had an onslaught of new ideas and I fully expect to be able to use them. Without further ado, here's Our Today!

* * *

Erik awoke with a throbbing headache and to the sounds of voices from the kitchen. He glowered.

_Damn him,_ he thought as he stumbled to the bathroom to splash his face with cold water. _Nadir said he wasn't going to bring his lady friend home. Liar. _

Vindictively, he left his mask on the bathroom counter. It would serve Nadir right for breaking a promise if his little girlfriend just happened to be frightened out of her wits by a monster and decided to never come back. But Erik had to pause when he entered the hall and could make out what was being said.

"When I was a girl," he heard Meg say sheepishly, "I didn't think that the Opera Ghost slept."

"Hah! Erik's just a man… Although he doesn't like us to know that he needs sleep just like the rest of us."

Whatever were they doing in the kitchen together? It just didn't make sense. Logically, Meg _couldn't_ be Nadir's lady friend. The voice from the other day hadn't been hers, and Erik had spent almost every day in her studio. So she couldn't be… Could she? Erik couldn't help but to feel a curious, peevish sort of emotion, similar to jealousy.

But was Meg stealing his best friend, or was Nadir making a move for his employer? Erik inched into the room quietly. Their backs were to him, so they couldn't see or hear him.

"Well, I suppose that when he wakes, we should act like we don't know."

"Miss Giry," Nadir leaned forward conspiratorially, "I give you my permission to poke lighthearted fun at him. Erik takes himself far too seriously…"

"Unless you have some sort of insane death wish, Meg, don't you dare take his advice," Erik said, causing Meg to jump. Nadir, meanwhile turned to grin at him lazily. Erik scowled at him, and Nadir cast a glance to Meg.

"That's exactly what I mean," he said to her. Then, turning back to Erik, he grinned again. "Good afternoon. It's three o'clock. Did you prick your finger on a poisoned spindle?"

Erik folded his arms. "Oh, indeed. I can only imagine it was _your_ kiss to wake me? Because when I woke, I had this awful taste in my mouth."

Nadir laughed and shook his head. Erik couldn't help but to grin cockily. Meg, meanwhile, was watching the two men with rapt, wide-eyed amusement. It was impossible for Erik not to laugh out loud at the sight of her.

"Are we shocking you?" he asked.

Meg shook her head. "No."

"Oh, good," a beat, then, darkly, "What brings you here? How did you get my address?"

"Nadir invited me."

Erik shot a withering glance at his friend. It seemed Nadir was intent on complicating Erik's life. Wasn't he always? But Erik didn't like the feeling he got in the pit of his stomach. He was—for the first time in a long time—truly suspicious of Nadir. And that was odd. Erik had not claim on Meg, so it shouldn't bother him so much that they were taking tea together. Perhaps taking note of this, or perhaps prompted to defend himself at Erik's accusatory look, Nadir said his name once to get his attention.

"I figured any employer who hired you wasn't quite sure of what they were getting. I gave her a sort of briefing about handling you," Nadir said simply.

So it was worse than Meg being Nadir's mystery woman. This was the equivalent of a mother flaunting naked baby pictures. Thank God Nadir didn't have those. Erik's tense shoulders went slack with resigned irritation.

"Brilliant, he groaned. "What did he tell you?"

Nadir quietly excused himself to his home office.

_Yes, that's good, Daroga. Run away. Why ever would you want to face Erik's wrath?_

But that left Meg without a lifeline, so Erik expected her to panic. Instead she shrugged and took a sip of her drink.

"He told me that you have the marvelous talent of a genius—and a temper that more than matches." She set the cup down. "I knew that already, so we agreed that I should choreograph to more complex music. Then I asked him if you often try to strangle people for no apparent reason."

Erik bristled and bit his lip. He had yet to sit down, but his bony knuckles went white as he gripped a nearby chair. His newest fear was that Nadir would start investigating him again. That was the last thing he needed. Erik's criminal behavior had long ago ceased, but Meg unleashed a dormant part of him and it frightened him. He was worried about what dirt Nadir and Meg could dig up against him, but even more frightening was that serene smile on Meg's lips.

"He told me pepper spray should do the trick, if you know what I mean."

"D-did he really?" Erik asked in a surprisingly mild tone. He felt backed into a corner and all the anger he felt would do him absolutely no good.

Meg shrugged. "Maybe he did; maybe he didn't. Maybe I didn't even ask him that. But that's for me to know."

Erik's grip on the chair relaxed. "You didn't ask."

Meg shrugged again and Erik moaned, throwing his hands up in the air. He hadn't expected her to be so clever. Perhaps this was a stroke of luck on her part, but Erik had no room to ever underestimate Meg Giry again. For all his frustration, he couldn't help but have a grudging respect. His eyes roved over her curiously. She really, really wasn't the little prune of a dancer he remembered. She was a woman now, petite, but certainly womanly. And a maddening powerhouse. Erik had seen her wielding a baseball bat and he hadn't doubted her ability to do damage then. Now, he knew she could damage with words. But even still, these sort of changes weren't terribly surprising. If Erik recalled correctly, he remembered Meg as a bratty little thing, saucy, rave haired, and graspingly ambitious. Now, she may have been far more accepting and calmer, but she had that stubborn streak, still. But even that wasn't what threw him off. It was her appearance. There would be these moments when he would swear she was Christine, and then she'd turn around and flash him a bold and cocky grin. And Erik knew that she could only be Meg.

Meg coughed lightly and Erik realized he'd been staring. Stranger still, she had been staring back.

"I should go," Meg said hastily, standing up. "Let me go and thank Nadir for inviting me."

"Oh, of course… I'll just… ah… Put your cup away."

"Thanks, Erik. I'll see you tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Tonight… At work…" Meg spoke gently, as if to a slow-witted child.

Erik nodded and watched her disappear into the study for a moment. He tore his eyes away, unwilling to watch any longer.


End file.
